Number 2
by LauraNeatO
Summary: The untold story of Sai and his 'brother' from the days they were in Root: An emotionless boy finds a bittersweet companionship with his classmate. The story stays true to canon. This story may affect how you view Sai and his past.


_A/N: This is the story of young 'Sai' (Before he was assigned his name) and his 'Brother'._

_It's been fun portraying the Sai's personality in a first person limited emotionless point of view. The entire plot is already written in script format, and my first priority is to make this into a doujinshi, which you can find at my DeviantART page. It's been a long time since I've written a fanfiction, and I consider this to be an appropriate comeback to the fanfiction scene after 3 years._

CHAPTER 1:  
Usual

I didn't have a name.

The teacher was handing out the results as I sat in my usual chair at the back of the classroom. In my head, I reviewed both the questions given on the test, and my written responses. I was as sure now, as I was then, that there were no flaws in my logic. It was the perfect test score. And, as I sat recalculating all my results for the week in my mind, I heard the signal for me to stand.

The teacher lifted a paper from the pile and said in his usual monotone, "Number 2, please come to the front."

I rose to my feet and walked down the wooden steps dividing the plain auditorium lecture room. Other than both my steps and the steps of Former 4 passing me on the return to his seat, the classroom was silent, as usual between lectures.

I obediently approached the teacher and took the test results with my right hand, glancing to my teacher's eyes as I pulled the page away.

He spoke in his usual tone, "Good job, Number 2. You are now Number 1."

Of course. I acknowledged this by bringing the paper down to my side instead of glancing at the grade, and turned to walk back up the steps to my seat. Behind me, the teacher spoke again, "Former 1, please come to the front."

I cared only enough to cross in front of Former 1 to take my seat. He held no value to me; he was merely the boy who sat beside me at the back of the room. I watched him at the front of the room and as he took his test results with his right hand. The teacher's face was stone as he stated that the boy was now Number 2.

And then the boy made a strange low bow to the teacher. My mind jogged slightly as the boy stood up and began to walk up the steps. I must have watched him, though my mind was reviewing a book I once read about manners. The writing was rusty in my mind. I would have to re-read it later.

--

We were trained for one purpose only: to develop our skills to better serve as the Root of Konoha. We were part of the greater system, and that was the sole purpose to our existence. We were trained to be the perfect human weapons. We had no names, no feelings, no past, and no future. There was only the mission. The perfect Root would eliminate all obstacles in his way of the mission; and my mission, as a student of Root, was to become the perfect Root. Nothing would stand in my way; nothing would distract me from my mission. There was only me, and my goal.

And every time I threw my shuriken at the targets in the training field, I kept my mind clear, and on that goal. I would be better; I would improve; I would be the perfect Root.

I could feel the shuriken in my hands slipping a fraction off course as I repeated my goal in my mind. It hit off-center again, and I picked up another throwing star. I continued to throw them during practice, but I had problems clearing my head. I was having a bad concentration day, and my distracted mind was evident of it. If I continued to throw like this, I would never be the top Root.

Number 2 beside me was having a better throwing day; it was evident by all of his kunai hitting the targets in some way. I merely glanced, and then remembered to not care. I once read in a phrase book that curiosity killed a cat. I never threw my last shuriken, and I cursed myself for thinking too much, and failing to reach my personal achievement goal for the day.

The teacher stood next to the boy beside me. "Excellent work, Number 2. You are now Number 1."

I acknowledged the teacher with a glance as he then spoke to me, "Based on your results, Former 1, you are now Number 2."

I knew he would say it; he often said it. My reaction was usual; I listened and accepted his words. Tomorrow I would train again. I kept my eyes straight ahead to my shuriken-covered targets. I then glanced quickly to the boy who was now Number 1. And, just as quickly, my eyes darted away.

--

In the classroom, our teacher was giving us a lecture. It was the usual lecture, and I had already read the book; however, I still took diligent notes by hand and made further notes in my mind. I would re-read the book tonight and study my notes again. I would be the perfect Root.

My eyes glanced to boy to the right of me. He had silver hair, and I acknowledged that. I then looked back to the front of the classroom. My mind concentrated on the teacher's words, and my hand moved to make more notes of them.

And as I watched the teacher, and listened intently, I wondered.

That, in itself, was a wonder.

I did not understand or acknowledge the purpose of my sudden, strayed thought.

But then my thought threatened to give rise to another thought. I then quickly flipped my notes page to a blank sheet on which I quickly began to draw multiple shapes and figures clashing and meshing in abstract designs. My mission in the classroom was to learn and absorb knowledge. Therefore, I would concentrate on the class lesson. Otherwise, I would never be the true Number 1.

The scribble sheet helped me to clear my thoughts, and I knew there would be no danger of daydreaming again. And now that I no longer was wondering, I could concentrate on my class lesson. And I began to expertly write rapid, perfect kanji notes with my skilled hands.

I was concentrating now. I was being the perfect Root. I was accomplishing my mission.

And then my eyes wandered again to the silver haired boy to my right. He was the current Number 1. And as Number 2, I acknowledged him.

--

Track training was the usual. And I ran my usual way. I was quicker, and therefore I won the races. I concentrated on running, but I allowed myself to think of my art. I found myself wondering more things lately. I never came to realize what I was wondering exactly; I just knew I had a harder time concentrating, and I had to work harder to clear my mind. Something was bothering me, but I did not yet know the cause.

I usually cleared my head through the act of drawing. After drawing the images in my mind, I would free myself from thought. Most often, the images were merely colors, swirling abstractly, until I drew their pattern onto sketch paper. This time, however, the design in my mind looked like the boy in my class.

I won the race as usual. The boy in my thoughts followed me, and kneeled beside me, panting for breath. The teacher acknowledged him first, his voice unchanging, "Due to your results, Number 1, you are now Number 2."

And then he told me, as Former 2, I was now Number 1.

I heard the teacher, but my eyes had already glanced to the boy.

And after that, I once again began to wonder. I had to remind myself to clear my head. And then I did. I had no further concentration problems for the day.

--

During shuriken training again, I meditated in my thoughts and concentrated only on my physical actions. And I threw one shuriken, and then the next. My thoughts only were of shuriken. This one, I aim and throw, and this one, I aim. I throw. Pick up. Aim. Throw. Pick up; aim; aim; aim.

Him…

No. Aim. My thoughts were unclouded. There was no present; there was no future; there were no feelings. There was only my mission, and my mission was to aim.

Number 2…

I aimed my next shuriken, and it hit slightly off the mark. I was unsatisfied, and this dissatisfaction clouded my next aim, and all the shuriken following. My perfect streak was marred by my distracted thoughts. Although my shuriken were still on target, I glanced to the targets beside mine and I acknowledged that my aim did not display the same perfection as the targets belonging to Number 2.

And then the teacher signaled the end of the training, and scored our marks individually as we stood at attention.

That boy…

I allowed myself to acknowledge him now. Now that the session was over, I was now in between missions. I looked to him, and acknowledged him. And, I knew what the results were. I calculated his accuracy versus my own, and I could already foresee the order of marks the teacher had written.

I made a decision to train during the night and perfect my concentration and throws. It was… unusual… for me to think of that boy, Number 2.

I glanced to him as the teacher told him he was now Number 1.

I was now Number 2.

Of all the students in my class, he and I were the only ones who shared the same Numbers.

And after a day, I realized, it was really no wonder after all:

It was only natural, as a rival, that I took notice of the boy.

And every day during shuriken practice, I began to watch him.

And as I watched him, I began to draw him in a book.

–––––––––

July 31, 2008

To be continued.


End file.
